


Secret of the Ice Cave

by MiriamKenneath



Category: Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back
Genre: Bestiality, Captivity, Cuddling, Fix-It of Sorts, Hoth, Other, Smut, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-01 13:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/pseuds/MiriamKenneath
Summary: A slightly ('slightly,' she says!) AU take on the ice cave scene in The Empire Strikes Back.





	Secret of the Ice Cave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



He wasn’t cold. In fact, he was practically _warm_. That was the first thing he noticed.

The second thing he noticed was that he couldn’t move. He seemed to be lying more or less flat, but he couldn’t get up. That was strange. He didn’t understand why.

The third thing he noticed was the pain. It wasn’t severe enough to imply that he’d incurred any permanent damage – yet – but his body ached, and his head was throbbing, positively throbbing, like he’d been hit hard. Maybe even knocked out altogether. Actually, come to think of it…

Luke Skywalker’s memories returned to him in a sickening rush. Driving snow. The attack out of nowhere. The death screams of his tauntaun mount. And then the wampa…

_Oh! The wampa!_

A burst of adrenaline surged through Luke’s veins as horrified realisation dawned. Just how long had he been unconscious anyway?! He took in his surroundings: a naturally formed ice cave. The ceiling was a pricklebush of glittering icicles, and there were bones scattered about everywhere. He must’ve been captured by a wampa, Hoth’s most fearsome indigenous predator, and dragged back to its lair. But why hadn’t it begun to eat him yet? Was it saving him for later consumption? He’d heard the rumours about that from those stationed at Echo Base. Or…or…was it…?

Oh. _Oh._

Belatedly, Luke realised why, exactly, he couldn’t move. And why he didn’t feel cold. He was ensconced in the giant arms of a two and a half meter tall, two hundred kilo wampa.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad place to be. Actually, if he were honest, it felt kind of nice. The wampa’s pale fur was thick and soft as a cloud, and so very, very warm. It smelled musky, sweet. Luke turned his head, trying to see the creature spooned up behind him. The wampa responded to his movements by nuzzling his cheek with its muzzle; Luke could smell the cloying reek of rot on its hot breath. The pads of its paws stroked his head, his hair, down his spine and his sides. The sickle-like claws were angled away from his flesh and did not hurt. He was being cradled as tenderly an infant, really.

Or…or…maybe not an _infant_ …

This was no cruel, mindless beast. It possessed primitive intelligence and self-awareness. In the Force, Luke could sense the outlines of its past as well as the shape of its present. Wampas were solitary creatures by necessity – on a planet as bleak and desolate as Hoth, a large territory was required to sustain even a single wampa, and such territory had to be defended from other interloper wampas, to the death, if necessary. As such, the price of a full belly was interminable, crushing loneliness, and this wampa, which had so recently gorged itself on Luke’s tauntaun mount, was not hungry. Not for more food, at least.

There were other hungers yet to be satiated, Luke understood, and he could feel the wampa’s joyous anticipation, its arousal. Arousal that was swollen, engorged, and prodding Luke’s clothed buttocks insistently. It – or _he_ , since Luke supposed that this meant the wampa was notionally male – knew exactly what it wanted.

_A mate. The wampa wanted a mate._

Luke was in no good position at the moment, literally or figuratively, to argue with the wampa’s desires. If he allowed it to have its…er… _way_ with him, would it let him go? Surely wampas weren’t in the habit of murdering those with whom they successfully copulated. That would defeat the purpose of sexual reproduction, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?

Well, technically, Luke did have a choice. Of course he did. His lightsaber was nearby, half-buried beneath a snowdrift. He could summon it to his hand and attack the wampa. He could kill it, or maim it (which would be as good as killing it outright), or hurt it, or at minimum _scare_ it, thereby making good on his escape. But, he realised, he didn’t want to do any of these things. The wampa hadn’t taken Luke captive because it was _evil_ ; it had taken Luke captive because it was lonely-hearted and horny and…

…and Luke was, he was forced to admit to himself, _intrigued_. His own cock was filling inside his trousers, and they were becoming uncomfortably tight.

Moment of truth. Luke opened his trousers and shimmied them down below his hips. He rubbed himself against the wampa suggestively: an invitation. The organ was inhumanly thick and warm. Long. Dripping wet with natural lubrication. Yes, Luke was confident he could take it.

The wampa seemed to understand Luke’s invitation as a show of submission, and it didn’t hesitate. It manoeuvred Luke into position and rammed itself home with one mighty thrust.

Luke gasped, the wind knocked out of him. Oh, the wampa was _big_! So, so big. Like half of his internal organs were being pushed up towards his throat to make space for the wampa. And it…it had…ripples? Ridges? Whatever they were, they caught on the lip of his hole with each inward, outward, inward, outward pass, and they scraped deliciously against Luke’s prostate gland. He was seeing stars almost immediately.

Although romance was not in the wampa’s repertoire, it did hold Luke close as it fucked him, its thick muscles as strong as corded durasteel restraining him, its thick fur like a winter duvet enveloping him. He moaned and whimpered and sighed and pushed back against the penetration, urging the wampa to thrust harder, faster, harder, faster. _Harder. Faster._ Luke’s cock was leaking droplets of precome into the snow. The shared pleasure was building, tensing, coiling, ready to explode –

The wampa began to ejaculate inside Luke, like a flood, like a torrent, roaring. Its claws tore at Luke’s clothing and bruised – but did not break – his skin, and its sharp teeth grazed the pulsing artery at his neck. Luke shuddered and tightened his hole, trying his utmost to hold that delightfully hot semen inside of him. Then he came too.

But it wasn’t over, no, not by a long shot. The wampa fucked Luke thrice more before exhausting itself and falling into satiated sleep. Luke, meanwhile, having lost count of his orgasms, dozed in the warmth of the wampa’s big, furry body.

 

This was how Han found him, some hours later.

‘Kid, do I even want to know?’ asked Han, his cynical tone of voice concealing what had to have been shock, like he couldn’t quite believe what his eyes were unequivocally telling him must be true.

‘No,’ replied Luke shortly as he pulled up his trousers, ignoring the lingering stickiness between his legs, and made ready to leave the wampa behind to its well-earned rest, its peaceful snores filling the ice cave with regular, low-frequency rumbling.

‘Yeah. Didn’t think so.’

**Author's Note:**

> Credit (blame?) to [Mark Hamill](https://io9.gizmodo.com/mark-hamill-regrets-maiming-that-wampa-in-the-empire-st-1820768431) for giving me the idea to write a fix-it!


End file.
